Bat
by Hayles45
Summary: A GCSE English Assessment: Based on Year One. After his failed attempt at becoming a crime fighter, Bruce Wayne contemplates his future and whether he can wait for his revenge any longer. Rated T to be safe! Please R&R, as I need feedback! :D


**Hi! This was an English Controlled Assessment I did, where we had to write a monologue of a character we knew well... and I chose Batman :D Please review and tell me what you think, as I would appreciate feedback. This is based on Year One by Frank Miller, and more specifically the scene where Bruce is deciding what to do with his life... Enjoy :)**

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Father, I'm afraid I may die tonight.

The fabric of the armchair shifts against my clothes as I sink into the crevice, its warmth providing some distraction from these dark, inner thoughts that are plaguing my mind. Almost as dark as this grand study, the last glimmers of light fading behind the horizon as the shadows come out to play.

Your face stares back at me, Father, its stony expression almost comforting as I slowly ebb away. As a young boy, I had originally thought that the statue in your likeness was stupid.

Not now... not now.

Blood continues to trickle, spilling across my fingers like red rivers flowing through a pale landscape. It's the least of my worries as I sit motionless, eyes glazed like dull marble.

How do I do it, Father? How do I make them afraid? With all my knowledge and all my experience, the answer still eludes me.

Just like it eluded me tonight.

I thought I was doing everything right, but obviously I was mistaken. I didn't take the time to plan things out; to make sure things would go right. You know me, Father, I'm too impatient, too impulsive.

And now I'm bleeding to death in your study. I'm sorry, Father... I'm so sorry.

I should be able to make them afraid. Fear is something I know very well indeed. The way your stomach twists, knotting itself as your eyes glaze over and you feel as if you're about to die.

The way your limbs begin to shake, mirroring the unstable emotions which flood your mind, paralysing you as you stand there, unable to feel your own feet. How your breath hitches in your throat, a reminder that you need oxygen after forgetting to breathe for so long.

And how you feel so utterly helpless and alone. Completely and unforgivingly alone. That is the fear that I know.

That is the fear I felt that night, Father, and the fear I feel now.

Surely if I know fear, I can inflict it on others? When I tried to save those girls, staring the great brute who was keeping them captive right in his cold, steely grey eyes, I hesitated. My mind stalled, and for a moment I felt as if I was isolated from the world. Almost as if I was falling, with no hope of recovery.

Is that how you felt, Father? Is that how you felt that night, unable to defend your family against a killer? I won't judge you, Father. As long as you don't judge me.

The blood is flowing quickly, now more like maroon tidal waves than red rivers. It drains down from the wound in my lower arm, onto my hand and then into the warm, auburn armchair, staining deep patches of crimson into the fabric.

If I survive, it will serve as a reminded of my foolishness. _If_ I survive.

Seems like an unfitting way to die, really. I can imagine the newspapers the next say, grey lettering boldly screaming, 'Bruce Wayne bleeds to death in his mansion'.

It would be very tragic: a young man cut down in the prime of life. I'm not in my prime, that's for sure.

It's been eighteen years... eighteen God damn years... since I was ever in the prime of life. How can I ever say that I have felt as happy or as innocent as I did before that night all those years ago?

Before the Mark of Zorro. Before the trembling man with the hollow, dead eyes and the pistol which shone like a blank face in the moonlight. Before the bright, loud flash which still rings in my ears, and the steady rays of the street lamp illuminating everything that I had ever feared.

Before my entire world came crashing down on top of me, and before all sense left my eye.

Eighteen God damn years... no longer.

If I call for Alfred, he can stop the bleeding in time. Another of the many gifts you have left me, Father. I have everything I could possibly need: wealth, intelligence, a magnificent house with the perfect hideout underneath- and Alfred. Everything except patience.

I can't wait another minute.

Suddenly, it comes. Crashing through the window of your study, Father, almost graceful as it flaps its gnarled, tawny wings.

I've seen it somewhere before. It frightened me as a young boy, with its beady eyes and fearsome expression.

...frightened me...

The bat stares at me from its perch upon your likeness, watching me as if it's staring into my very soul.

Perhaps it is.

I grasp for the bell, ringing it loudly. Alfred will be here soon. He can stop the bleeding.

I know now, Father... I know now what I must do. The bat flaps its wings as it takes off, gliding effortlessly as it soars out of the broken window of your study and into the night. I too will glide and soar.

Yes, Father. I shall become a Bat.


End file.
